Rebels
by Aelyra
Summary: Facilis descensus averni - the descent to hell is easy. The story of how the Uglies world began, and how it almost ended. Rated T for mild violence.
1. Beginning

This story is my take on how the Uglies world began. None of the characters from the books will appear, but you might meet some of their ancestors.

This is my first story. Normally, I write regular fic, but I decided to give fanfic a shot… Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated. Flames are… not. Thanks a lot to my amazing beta, **Infinite Rhapsody**. Go check out her stories!

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CHAPTER ONE

When I was little, my mother used to tell me that an angel had carried me down from Heaven, into her arms. I believed her, at least until religion was banned, when I was six.

When I was little, my father used to read me bedtime stories. That was my favorite part of the day, at least until I was shipped away from my parents to a government school when I was nine.

When I was little, I used to think the world was perfect. That was until I noticed the Government carting away people who spoke their thoughts, and the small, evil eyes of our leader, and the pictures of cities we had nuked in our frenzied attempt to control the world. I was twelve.

Young children always think their childhood was the best time in their life.

That ended with the atomic bomb in 1945, with the hydrogen bomb in 1952, with antimatter in 1995, with the Bohrian laser ray in 2014.

Mankind keeps finding ways to destroy itself.

Tell me about when I was little. Tell me about when I was small.

Tell me about the assassination of President Donovan, leading to anarchy and eventually to our current leader's dictatorship, the nameless Master, in 2053, when I was three. Tell me about the European H-bomb attack of 2058 when I was eight. Tell me about the Battle of Chicago and the massacre at Paris. Tell me about when I was little. Tell me about when I was small.

Children are so sentimental sometimes.

* * *

My story started at midnight on New Year's Day, 2050.

Doctors and nurse congratulated my mother and shook my father's hand, proclaiming that I would surely be special with a birthdate like that. My parents watched as I kicked and screamed, a pale-skinned brunette baby, face screwed up with the force of my cries.

They should have taken the hint. Even a baby can tell when the world they're coming into is a horrible, twisted, my-God-what-has-gone-wrong-here world.

My earliest memory is a bomb raid. I remember rushing, rushing down into the cellar in my mother's arms; reverberations from the nukes getting dropped on top of us; rustles from the radiation suits; the insistent smell of smoke. I remember coming out hours later to a world of destruction, helper robots attempting to salvage the city, grasping blackened wood and twisted metal in their unfeeling claws.

And smoke. Always smoke.

There were the nukes and the anthrax dirty bombs and the Bohrian laser and the Battle of Chicago that left the Windy City a radioactive, soupy Hades.

I had an aunt that lived there.

At least, I used to.

I grew older, my birthdays and Christmases punctuated by wars and lockdowns at school and a gradual loss of my Constitutional rights.

There were the hydrogen bombs and the antimatter annihilation of Washington, D.C. and the Philadelphia riots and the Boston massacre.

Then there was the slow take-over of the Master and his men, and the forcing of all children into the government schools. The massacres of all over the age of sixteen.

Through all this, the government tried to assure us that we were safe and happy and innocent, like ignorant, blind sheep on a cute television sitcom. Young, rebellious Uglies. At school, they told us how cool wallscreens were and how stupid the enemy was and how interesting geometry was and how nice it would be when we turned sixteen and went through a genetically modifying surgery to make us beautiful and healthy. To make us mindless servants of them. Beautiful, happy, yet completely clueless Pretties. They told us to always mind the warden bots and to never airboard at night. They told us the world was perfect. They told us America was a utopia.

I never listened to my teachers.

Especially when I grew up.

* * *

I was three months from sixteen, from coming of age, from the operation. I should have been hugely excited, but instead, I was restless, easily annoyed. I grew gradually apart from the few friends I had. I still went out tricking at night, airboarding past the warden station and making the silly bots chase me back to the teen dorms, going to the mod section of town, prowling past senseless robots and setting off fire alarms at my leisure.

But it wasn't enough. It never was.

Ninety, sixty, thirty, twenty, ten days left. I wasn't sure how I should spend my last ten days as an un-Surged, rebellious Ugly. I tried to read my favorite old books on my handheld tablet, but they made me impatient. Everything was always full of happiness and hope even in the darkest moments of the e-books. There were hardly any deaths at all and the main characters always got what they wanted: fame, love, a long life. A happy ending.

Truth to tell, I was jealous of their happiness. Everyone I asked always said they were happy, but you could see it in their eyes, that slight veiled, guarded, cloudy look. Shifty eyes, trying to get out of the question, not wanting to have the Government's Intelligence team down upon their heads if they answered the wrong way.

Intelligence were a world unto themselves. Changed beyond the normal surgery, they were inhumanly strong and fast, with infrared vision, map overlays, and so many other electrical mods that they could be closer to robot than human. (No one had ever found out that I knew of. No one had ever _survived _finding out, in any case.) We called them Specials. They were hand-picked from the new, sixteen-year-old Surged, supposedly the trickiest and the smartest of us. Even though Specials had super strength, speed, and a monthly paycheck five digits long, no one wanted to be an Special. They were too frightening, too unknown. And, of course, they served the Government. Hatred of our leaders was a secret yet deep-rooted feeling in all of us, one we were afraid to mention.

The day my world imploded was my sixteenth birthday. It began in the morning.

"Seven hundred hours! Seven hundred hours!" squeaked my alarm clock, standing on my bedside table amidst a disorganized clutter—clothes credits, thumb drives, all sorts of useless doodads. "Seven hundred hours!"

"Shut up," I mumbled blearily, turning over on the lumpy, dorm-issued mattress.

The alarm only increased in pitch. "Seven hundred hours! _Seven hundred hours!_"

"I'm getting up," I grunted, reluctantly dragging myself off the old, rickety metal bed. I stood and stretched, gesturing with my index finger to open up my wallscreen and key it to _Mirror. _One wall in my small bedroom flickered to life, showing itself only as a reflective surface. I gazed at my reflection for only a few seconds before keying the wallscreen to a list of my assignments. It hurt to look at my face; my ivory skin, dark, long brown hair, and short stature was less than average compared most of the beauties who graced the halls of the dorms. They were the popular ones, the teacher's pets, the cliques and the admired. The rest of us, looked down upon by them, were the nerds and the tricky, the sarcastic and the featherbrained. The ones, society said, that were colorless and drab. The ones, we shot back, that had real character.

I shook my head as if to chase away all my thoughts about the divide. _Sixteen-year-olds shouldn't have to worry about all this, _I told myself. _All we need to think about is the mod operation. The mod operation is today. Today I will change who I am, will have DNA-altering chemicals pumped through my blood so I can look beautiful, just like everyone else. Today I will have software implanted in my brain that makes sure I behave like a perfect little sheep, a servant to the Master, and I will have perpetual antibiotics injected into all my cells like tiny cleaner bots so I live a long, healthy life. _

_Today I will be guaranteed a happy ending._

_So long as I play by the rules. _

I shrugged into my generic gov-issued, scratchy uniform of nondescript blue denim jeans and synthcotton white blouse. My hair was impossible, as usual, so I pulled it up into a ponytail, chewed a toothpaste tablet, and washed my face. I threw all my worldly belongings (my handheld computer, a hair band, a pair of gold earrings, a synthwool scarf and the junk on my bedside table) into my small black schoolbag. I pulled on a pair of old running shoes and walked to the door. Before leaving, I turned around and looked once more at my sorry dorm, gray walls and blank wallscreen, beat-up carpet and old 2043 terminal, empty closet and flimsy metal bed with its messy covers.

I was moving on to a new place, a new station, a new life.

I wasn't so sure I wanted to, though.

My dorm room was dirty, scruffy, and abused by who knew how many teenagers. It was claustrophobic, dingy; the east wall had a strange brown stain. The terminal was so old it didn't even connect to the nets. There were sometimes mice, which was odd, because all our teachers had told us they were extinct. It was frigid in the winter months and stifling in the summer. It was stuffy and empty, depressing and drab.

I loved the place.

I had a strange desire to hide inside the room and never come out. I wanted to stay in a place that was known and until now, hated; in a place I'd lived longer in than my own home, in a place that I had loathed all my life. I wanted to cling to familiarity.

But I could not.

A servebot came to the door and tugged my arm with its titanium claw. "Come. It is time for you to go for the modification surgery," it squawked in its electronic voice.

"To leave life as I know it, you mean," I corrected bleakly. "To go for something new, and frightening, and painful. To leave for a surgery that has a sixty percent fatality rate. To get my bones ground up and replaced with metal rods. To get my very genes altered so I don't look like a scrawny teenager. All in all, to leave my life in the fickle hands of the government."

"You have exceeded this unit's language capacity," was the bot's reply.

Stupid bot. Stupid dorm. Stupid surgery. "I'm not surprised. You servebots don't know anything past computer chips and fetching things and cleaning dorm rooms. You don't know anything past what some technician programmed into your electronic head. This world is beyond repair!"

The bot did nothing but repeat its automatic message.

"All right, I'm coming. That too hard for you?" I shouldered my bag and trudged out into the dingy hallway.

"You have exceeded this unit's language capacity."

"Oh, shut up."

"You have exceeded—"

"Servebot off," I said in exasperation.

This, at least, the bot understood. Its flashing lights went dark and the arms retreated inside the spherical body. It was still supported on the underground gravgrid, so, thankfully, the heavy, hovering robot didn't fall to the floor.

"Goodbye," I muttered. I stepped past the non-functional bot and down the hallway. Younger kids opened their doors and stared at me in surprise. _She's a sixteen-year-old! She's going for the mod Surge! I can't wait till I'm sixteen!_ The little kids whispered in awe. I smiled weakly at them, but judging by the puzzled looks in their eyes, I had grinned in a twisted, scowling way. I couldn't help it. I'd waited years and years for the operation, and now…with the little kids admiring me…five hours away from beauty, a long life, a happy ending…I wasn't sure. Was it that I was scared that the Surge would be painful? Was it that I was scared that I would be one of the sixty percent that died from the modifications? Was it that I was scared to start a new chapter in my life? I didn't know. I smiled-slash-grimaced again as I came to the end of the hallway.

I stepped out the automatic door into stifling heat. The world was like a giant's oven. I vaguely remembered that our city used to be called Sattle or something, that it had been one of the rainiest and coldest cities in the old country, the United States of America. That was before global warming, of course. Now the whole world was blazing hot.

There used to be polar icecaps and something called _snow._ There used to be temperate climates and even rain forests.

Not anymore.

I shoved the thought of the heat behind me. That action wasn't really voluntary—my musings on temperature had been chased out by nerve-racking adrenaline as soon as I saw the robotic groundcar come to take me to the hospital. I resisted the urge to bite my nails as I walked up to the car on shaky legs.

I was five hours away from pain. I was five hours away from changing who I was. I was five hours away from a guaranteed happy ending.

I reached for the handle of the door and pulled it open. I climbed in with some difficulty (the car was made for people with much longer legs) and shut the hatch behind me. I began to insert my citizen's interface card into the slot in front of me to send information to the car's computer about me, my surgery, and the route to the hospital. Just as the card neared the slot, a large hand darted quick as though to cover my own.

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_Note: __I know a lot of things in this story don't match up with the Uglies world exactly, but you have to remember, this takes place at the formation of it, so not everything will be the exact same._

And of course, if you've taken the time to read this chapter, you minus as well review. Just click that button down there. Reviews fuel my imagination. :)

-Aelyra


	2. Different

Hey guys! Here's the second chapter. Thanks to **Infinite Rhapsody**, **xErraticx** and **Paramore Fanatic **for their reviews! You guys made me feel so loved! Also, again, a special thanks to my awesome beta, **Infinite Rhapsody**. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER TWO

"What—" I had never seen this boy before, but I knew instinctively he was not from my or any other dorm. He carried himself differently—prouder, and more gracefully. His light brown hair was ruffled, his green eyes framed with long black lashes. Perceptive eyes. Deep eyes. They stood out like emeralds in his tanned face, silently scrutinizing me from their bright depths. The boy looked to be about my age, but he seemed somehow alien. Or rather, I felt somewhat out of place as I looked at him—he was a person who belonged on this green Earth; I belonged to the world of servebots and machines. I looked away from his face, unnerved by the knowing stare. He was dressed simply, in a blue synthcotton T-shirt and denim jeans. They looked like they were quite old, but they were very clean and well-cared for.

The boy released my hand as fast as he had seized it, as if he hadn't meant to. He took a step backward and sat down upon the harsh, boxy brown synthleather passenger sofa. He smiled a little, as if to put me at ease, and I unfroze from my silent position, hand still reaching out towards the slot. My knees began to wobble—why, oh why _now—_and I fell down hard onto the couch. Graceful as a swan, me.

The boy smiled again. "Well, aren't you going to ask me who I am?" His voice was deep and husky, more open than any of my classmates'.

"Who—who are you?" I managed. My tongue was thick and unwilling to cooperate at the moment. I cursed silently. Why did I have to get tongue-tied around a strange, intriguing boy who was attempting to hijack my groundcar? _Why? _I should be calling a wardenbot, but it was either my long history with the nosy robots or my curiosity about the boy—young man, really—that stopped me. Why couldn't I talk?

"I'm Adrian. I know who you are."

"Oh, yes?"

"Victoria Clarke, age seventeen. Born in what was once Portland, Oregon, of the United States, now Anise City in the International Alliance. Parents, Ian Clarke and Sameera Clarke. You're a quarter Indian and a quarter British on your mother's side, and half Irish from your father. You earned a 4.0 GPA this past school year. You were suspended for reprogramming a warden robot six years ago. You—"

"All right! All right! You're starting to sound like a robot yourself."

The boy frowned. Had I offended him? His tone was smooth, however, when he continued. "Shouldn't you be asking me what I'm doing here?" He grinned, and I felt huge relief, as if the boy's feelings meant a lot to me in my strange state.

Why did I have to have him prompt me to ask him questions? What was _wrong _with me?

Adrian plowed on, his voice calm and melodious. "I'm here, Victoria, to warn you."

It was either the warning or hearing my name in his smooth voice that shocked me cold. With some difficulty, I pried open my lips. "Warn me? About what?" I asked innocently. In my mind I saw visions of Government rallies, of poisoned glasses and mushroom clouds and heat gas attacks.

Adrian's dark green eyes flashed. "The Cookie Monster. Honestly, Victoria, what did you think?" His voice carried the weight of disdain. I was too slow. Most regrettable.

"Who?"

"The Cookie Monster? You haven't heard—oh, of course. Sesame Street was taken off the air thirteen years ago. _Mouthpiece of the enemy _or something like that, probably." His tone softened again. "Victoria, the world's a dangerous place."

"Not anymore," I said stubbornly. I looked around furtively, then moved closer to the strange Adrian. "You idiot! This car is probably bugged! Can this _wait_?" I hissed. I was getting late. The hospital would be wondering where I was, and might even send someone to check. If they did, Adrian would be arrested, and I would probably be carted off with him. What if people could see us from the dorm windows?

"One—I'm not an idiot. Two—I, ah, removed the bugs from the car." Adrian held up his other hand. In it were various broken wires and chips. I guess I underestimated him. But then, you must have skills if you manage to break into a groundcar in the middle of a city such as Anise. "And three—this can't wait. In five hours, you will either be dead, a blip in the statistics and harvested for organs; a mindless mod; or a Special. Of the options, I think the third is most likely for you."

"What?" I could not picture myself as a Special. Then again, I couldn't even picture myself as a Surged.

Or dead.

Why did this guy think I was a likely Special candidate? I wasn't smart enough, nor resourceful enough, to meet the standards of the government. Why was this Adrian being so doomsday, the-apocalypse-is-coming-soon, the-world-will-end, there-is-no-happiness-ish anyway? He was probably some guy from a dorm I didn't know trying to have a good laugh at my expense. Well, I wouldn't listen to him.

As I was running through all this in my head, Adrian was still talking. "You're smart, Victoria, come on, keep up. If the government doesn't like the way you're heading, they'll kill you, or keep you for unspeakable purposes. If they believe you're a good, brainwashed little sheep who believes in the Master's ideas, they'll turn you into one of those incredibly asinine Surged. If they know you're a smart, tricky one, they'll harness that Speciallectuality and redirect that trickiness to their purposes, as a killing machine, or a robot, or a special. Whatever you call them, they're all the same. Made for killing, more computer than human, programmed to carry out the government's bidding.

"Victoria, you can say you don't want to be a Special, and they might honor your request, if anything the Government does can have the word _honor _attached to it. But if you're turned into a mod, you will have computer chips implanted into your brain that keep you from being free thinking. And you know what else they do? On your fiftieth birthday, in 2100, the chip irresistibly compels you to go back to the hospital, supposedly for life-extension surgeries. But you know what? It's the exact opposite! They will kill you then and there, to control the population! Three options, and two end in death.

"Which will you pick, Victoria? Death, becoming a virtual _robot_, or turning into a brainless shadow of yourself, which eventually ends in death, too? Do you pick the fool's paths or the way the wily one would take? Do you pick something that leaves you somewhat honorable—untainted by the Master…or do you pick the option that makes you an outlet for the government's bidding, a killing machine? What to choose, Victoria? What to choose? The happy ending or the despicable one?"

Eerily, Adrian's last sentence echoed what I had been thinking all day. I wet my lips. "What would you have me choose, Adrian?" I was asking a young man I had known for all of ten minutes for advice that would affect my whole life. As you do.

He looked surprised for a moment— as surprised as I was that I was asking him— then fixed his deep green eyes on mine. "The last thing I want to see is another life wasted in that stupid surgery, to become a bleating sheep for the rest of their life." Adrian's face was suddenly weary. "But I don't want to see you as a terrible killing machine, either. Which is worse, Victoria? A life of stupidity or one of murder? I don't know. I can't choose for you, Victoria. It's all up to you. It's an impossible decision. On the one hand, you have a life of leisure and beauty, with the mild drawback that your IQ is reduced by huge amounts and that you are herded in to die on your fiftieth birthday, which gives you thirty-three more years to live. On the other hand, you are super strong, super fast, and super beautiful, and, oh yes, you're in charge of the Governmental torture and assassination programs. You must choose, Victoria, but I wouldn't dare to pick for you."

I sat still, captivated by his speech. "Isn't that…a little dramatic?"

"Honestly, I can't impart to you fully how horrendous both those options are, Victoria." Adrian's eyes flashed with some tormented emotion, then regained their calm façade.

I couldn't help it. The childish question slipped out. "How do _you _know?"

"Victoria, I am seventeen. I'm not schooled past senior year. But Victoria…I have seen firsthand what this…this _Government_ does to you. It is more terrible than you can imagine. A terrible life, a terrible ending."

"Well, so have I. I see Surged people on the streets every day. They look perfectly happy to me." I was being stubborn, obnoxious; I was surprised Adrian wasn't giving up in disgust.

"I have seen them _die, _Victoria, at the end of their fifty years. I have seen the Specials at work. I have seen horrors you can't imagine, so don't try to outsmart me!" Adrian's voice was tight with anger; his mouth was set into a hard line as his eyes turned to frozen stones. "I have seen your Government's most terrible creations. I have seen what they will do to you, Victoria! Will you listen, or will you act like an idiot? Will you listen, or commit to a life of atrocity? Will you hear me out and consider what I am telling you?"

"All you've done is tell me what life as a Special or Surged is like," I said dumbly, trying to best him still. Or was I just trying to understand him? "You haven't given me a single thing to ponder. Adrian." I tacked his name on as a formality.

"I haven't given you anything to ponder? _What about telling you what is in store for you?_ What about that, Victoria?" Adrian got up, paced around in agitated fury. "The horrendous way or the mindless one? Victoria, you've come to a pivotal point in your life! If you say nothing, you will become either a sheep or a killing robot. If you speak up, you will _die. _You _must _think! You must use what hours you've got left! Use your brain! Find your moral compass, girl! Do what is right!"

"Pretty words," I mocked, hiding my bewilderment behind a mask of cynicism. Who was this guy who thought he could tell me what to do with my life?

"Victoria, I'm not going to keep repeating myself like a broken record," Adrian told me angrily, clenching his fists in frustration.

"Like a what?" I asked, determined to be difficult. Adrian was acting like he knew everything, and frankly, it was pissing me off.

"A—oh, never mind. I'm not going to explain. You know exactly what I mean, and I know it's hitting home. Face it, you don't know everything, and sarcasm won't stop you from getting Surged in a few hours. Use your brain, Victoria! Show me you've _got _one!"

"Fine," I conceded, my surly attitude only a show to anger this know-it-all boy.

"I knew you'd listen to reason," smirked Adrian, confident in his persuasive abilities.

"Then it can't have been you speaking, O Great One." I marched up to the surprised teenager and poked him, hard, in the chest. He stood still, shocked completely. "You think you can boss me around—"

Adrian regained his voice. "—I _told _you I would never pick for you—"

"Let me finish," I warned dangerously, my brown eyes glinting. "You think you can barge in on my life, hijack a groundcar, and give me roundabout, incomplete answers to impossible questions that you dredged up from the depths of my mind. Well, guess what? I'm not going to let you. I never asked you to insult my intelligence, nor the choice I may make. I just asked what _you _would pick in my place. Speaking of which, how do I even know what you said was true? How do I know you're not some immature adolescent trying to get a laugh at my expense?"

"Victoria." Adrian's voice was suddenly soft and gentle. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I've been watching you"—Oh, excellent. He'd been following me around _in_ _addition_ to trying to freak me out and getting me to hate the Government—"and I think—I _know_—you're different. You're not the same as all the stupid sheep, following their shepherds without any protest. Victoria, I just gave you the information. I wanted to make sure you were clear about all your options. I just wanted you safe."

"You know, your mood swings are really starting to give me whiplash," I said weakly, trying to protest but not really having the heart, not when his eyes were huge with honesty and belief—wait, what? What was _happening _to me? I tried to harden my heart, but his face was so open, so earnest, so _vulnerable _even through the masks of cynicism, fury, and self-righteousness.

_Excuse _me?

My heart was going as fast as if I had been thrill-boarding. I backed up one step, two steps. I steeled myself against all persuasion as I said finally, "Look, Adrian. I don't know who you are. I don't know what you do. I don't know why you're here. I'm going to go to the hospital and I am going to get modified in some way, be it Surging or getting turned into a 'killing machine,' as you put it. _I'm going to the hospital no matter what. _I'm sick of being a lame, unsurged Ugly, okay? I'm going to change my life today, and that's that."

"I'm not trying to control you, Victoria. Go to the hospital. Go get whatever operation done to you. I won't stop you. I just want you to decide knowing you made the right choice."

And as abruptly as he had appeared, Adrian grabbed a bar on the ceiling, opened the roof escape hatch, and swung through in a blur like a monkey in one of the old jungles. _He must have strength mods, _was my thought as the hatch shut with a thump.

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Oooh… mysterious new character. What will Victoria choose? Next chapter should be up soon— as always, reviews make me write faster!

-Aelyra


	3. Choice

And here's the third chapter! As always, thanks to my incredible beta, **Infinite Rhapsody**.

Speaking of which, go check out the story I'm helping her write, _Junk Mail_. …And the rest of all her amazing stories.

Anyways, enjoy!

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CHAPTER THREE

I shut away the questions Adrian had raised, shut off everything as I lifted my stupid skinny Ugly arm and inserted the interface card that I still held into the slot in front of me. The light by the slot flashed as I wrapped myself in a cloud of indecision and unfeeling, shivering, hugging my stomach tightly.

"State your name and place your eye in front of the retina scanner," chirped the idiotic, electronic, unknowing groundcar computer.

"Victoria Clarke," I whispered hoarsely. I put my eye to the scanner to allow it to take my reading. It flashed when it was done.

"Subject is on her way to the hospital for routine Surge modifications. Correct?"

"Yes," I murmured. What would happen if I said no? Would the car listen and ask me to give it another route, or would it ignore me and make its way to Anise City Hospital anyway? Probably the latter. As far as I knew, the Government wouldn't give me the option of staying unSurged all my life.

Not like I wanted to, anyway.

"Please sit down and buckle up. We shall be departing shortly." The screen darkened as I sat down on the old couch and fastened the clunky, choking shoulder belt around myself. My eyes traveled involuntarily to the hatch on the ceiling. Amidst the gray, dull metal there was a small strip of blue cloth. I unbuckled and stood to look more closely just as the groundcar began to move.

I fell back down onto the couch—for the third time that day—with a harsh bump as the momentum of the groundcar knocked me off balance. I had such great aim this time—I fell right on top of my schoolbag. Canvas, sharp zipper, and hard materials combined to create a very painful situation for my knees, which had taken the brunt of the fall.

_What a great time to forget that groundcars go from zero to sixty in three seconds. Good going, Victoria! _I strapped the seatbelt across my chest quickly and massaged my poor knees. They were taking a lot of damage that day.

"Please remain seated while the groundcar is in motion," chided the computer, a bit too late.

I gave a noncommittal grunt, rifling through my schoolbag to make sure that my handheld computer was undamaged. It was, thankfully. The handheld was my one source of entertainment and knowledge. I had learned to hack the dorm systems with it and discovered a failsafe, easy method for scrambling warden bot programming (there's nothing like watching a bot do the Macarena). I'd used it to work ahead in math class and to send messages to my friends. I'd used it to download e-books and to develop my own holo program.

If it had broken, I would have had to save up hundreds of credits with my meager Government allowance to pay for a new one—which would have taken quite a while, during which I would have to use a public terminal to communicate and surf the nets. I wiped the screen with my sleeve and replaced the handheld in my bag carefully.

I watched through the windows as the grimy buildings of the Ugly district zoomed past in various states of disrepair. The buildings were all gray and depressing, even in the hot sunlight. Their small windows were covered in dirt, and most still had blackout curtains and infrared signal maskers attached from recent air raids.

As we progressed towards the center of the city, where the Surge district and the Hospital were located, the state of the buildings declined. A few lots were bare, evidence of the horrors of the Bohrian laser ray.

The laser ray destroyed all matter, except for human bone. Victims vaporized immediately, their blood steaming and their brains boiling in their skulls as the walls crumbled to nothing around them. All that was left where the ray had hit were gruesome, charred skeletons. The ray had been developed by the Alliance, my country, but the Eurasian Empire, our chief enemy, had stolen the plans and used it almost weekly to attack our cites.

At least, that's what the Government said.

Finally, we burst from the Average district to the central part of the city at eighty miles per hour. It took the car just a short while driving through palm tree-adorned streets and Government entertainment centers to reach Anise City Hospital. A great, imposing white building, it had a nearly empty parking lot and a lone doctor standing outside the large, double-door main entryway.

I was leaning so far forward that the seatbelt was cutting harshly into my skin, and when the groundcar stopped, I snapped back so hard I thought my spine had broken. Rubbing my back painfully, I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the bright sunshine. The door of the car shut automatically behind me as I walked across the long asphalt parking lot towards the white-clad doctor.

As I neared the doctor, I noticed she—it was a she—looked very different from other Surged.

Her shining, fire-colored hair was cropped short as a boy's, spiky and disheveled. She stood gracefully, but sort of on edge, like she was on the verge of shifting into a crouch. But whereas Pretties I had seen before looked innocent and sweet and made you want to do anything for them, she cast an aurora of fear that made it seem more probable that she got things done through sheer terror.

She looked up from her handheld as I approached.

"Oh, Victoria. There you are." She smiled kindly and shook my hand.

I let it flop, too shocked to do much else.

Her voice was a high, clear soprano, but it seemed sharp somehow, cutting and piercing like a keen-edge knife. Her teeth, showing through her grin, were small and pearly white but pointed like a cat's. Her eyes were huge and angled, kind of like a wolf's eyes, except for the fact that they were silver. When I say silver, I don't mean a silver like cute jewelry—I mean a hard, reflective, unforgiving, bright clear silver like a frigid mountain stream. They were slit-pupiled, and as I stared, something seemed to change, some wiring inside seemed to show as the doctor's smile faded. The doctor's skin was as pale as mine. Her lips, hiding those frightening teeth, were full and a bright scarlet. Her aquiline nose was sharp and angular between her silver, slanted eyes.

For odd reason, I thought once again of that boy in the car —Adrian. The two were as opposite as could get.

"Victoria?" The doctor's eyes were concerned, if cold, liquid silver could ever be called _concerned. _"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Pleased to meet you, Doctor," I mumbled, startled out of my revere.

"Oh, I'm not a doctor," said the woman, her crimson lips curling momentarily. "I'm a scientist. You don't think we have _doctors _do _this _kind of surgery, do you?"

"Th—this kind?" Please tell me she did not mean what I thought she did. Please. Please. Please.

"Come on, Victoria," said the woman impatiently. The sharpness that was hiding inside her smooth voice became unmasked, grinding across my nerves. "You're intelligent. We picked you for that. Keep up, girl."

She did mean it. Oh no. Oh no. "Y-yes, ma'am."

"You may call me Turner. The full name is Jordan Turner, but I won't have my subordinates call me by my first name. I don't like business being so informal."

"Yes, Turner," I said, regaining strength in my voice. So this was a Special. So this was me in four hours.

Adrian had been right. Oh, God.

"Let me tell you a little about being a Special," said Turner, switching subjects rapidly, eerily catching my train of thought.

"You keep your own hours. You are incredibly strong, super fast, and require minimal sleep. You can do whatever you like when you are not on a mission. You will have superheightened senses. You can see the world through infrared, with map overlays, with X-ray, with all sorts of clear, high-tech views. You carry a handheld in your bag, no? You won't need to lug one of _those _around any more. You'll have one inside you—all the computer power, all the storage, all the equipment, in a small implant. You can view the screen just by closing your eyes. Of course, you'll have to shut that computer down sometimes, just like you do with your handheld, and then you will go into a sleep-like state, but that only lasts a few minutes, so don't worry about that. Your bones will be replaced with titanium rods for strength, your muscles augmented and sheathed in suborbital netting."

Turner paused for breath, and I inhaled too. She had been firing such disjointed, terrifying information at such a rate that _I _now felt out of breath.

"You will be part of one of four units—A, B, C, and D—made up of ten people each, including a captain. The captains answer to me. We'll be making _you _a captain, just experimentally, of course."

_You? _I asked myself in alarm. She was talking as if I had no choice, as if me being a Special was already given.

Snapping back from my thoughts, I heard the rest of what she was saying.

"If you can't handle the responsibility of being a captain, let alone just a normal Special, well, we have other uses for you."

I shivered.

"But I hope you won't wash out, Victoria. I have great plans for you. You're different from other girls your age. Your brainpower is that of a Special's already. You're a very special girl, Victoria."

Was it just me, or did she sound like Adrian had earlier?

"Well, I'm not going to bore you with all these details just now. Come on, let's go inside." Turner set off gracefully—and _quickly_—towards the building. I had to jog to keep up with her on my shorter legs. She noticed this and pursed her lips.

"We'll have to do some proportion readjustments. But that's all right. Hurry up, now."

_Hurry up to what? To my doom?_

The halls of the Hospital were industrial gray and sterile. Bright, fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling; the floor was covered in impeccably clean linoleum that Turner leapt easily across, not accounting for my slower speed.

She turned sharply down a corridor to the right and came to a standard auto titanium door. She stepped up to the retina scanner (of course, everything at the Hospital had to be top security) and waited while it flashed her frightening silver eyes. When the print had registered, the doors opened without a sound. Turner stepped aside.

"After you."

"Thanks," I muttered, not sure whether I really meant it.

Entering the room, I looked around. I was in a generic operation room, with an ordinary gurney and a table of equipment nearby. The equipment was what turned my stomach—metal rods; huge, foot-long scalpels; big chunks of computer chips and wires; strange, black clamps.

Wait a second, I thought. This was all going to fast. I hadn't even agreed that I wanted to be a Special yet.

Would those scalpels be used on me? Would that electronic junk fit inside my body? Were those clamps going to be used to make "proportion readjustments"? My mind was a whirl of anxiety and fear.

I walked silently over to the gurney and the doctor followed, padding lightly in her strange way. I stroked the bed, wondering how on earth I had managed to get myself into this mess.

"Well, get on," urged Turner, while pushing me bodily onto the gurney with painful strength. "Do you want to finish the operation today or in a week?"

"Sorry," I apologized quietly. _Get on? Now? But—_

I lay obediently—for once in my life—on the gurney with its sterile covering. I vaguely remembered something I had learned long ago and heard myself saying, as if from far away, "Don't I need to, um, change into a hospital gown or anything?"

Turner grinned, an eerie, wicked grin. "No, you're fine."

I hid my surprise, turning to face the equipment table. No—that was too scary. I looked instead at the tiled ceiling. There was a leak in the corner of the room. _A Special? Me? _I hadn't even entertained this thought until that green-eyed boy had brought it up. Now it seemed it was actually going to happen.

"Ready?" asked Turner, pulling the table over with blinding speed. She picked up a gas mask from the frightening array, connected it to a tank of some anesthetic.

I was going to be turned into, as Adrian put it, a despicable robot who murdered for a living. I couldn't do anything about it. I was doomed to become a Special, to become the dark shadow of the city, to become the stuff of ghost stories. I was going to have who-knows-what implanted into my brain and body.

Wait.

_Adrian had said I could tell them no._

_Pssh, _I told myself. _Like Turner will listen now that she's got all this set up. I can't do anything and that's that._

But I could try. My last stand, my last resort, my last comfort and the pink gas mask inched closer towards my face, attached, blew anesthetic into my body.

"Mmm…" I choked out, trying hard as I could to speak. "Don't…change me…"

The world fell into night, but I could not see the stars.

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Sooo, love it? Hate it? Do tell.

And now to reply to my amazing reviewers:

**Paramore Fanatic: **haha, couldn't help :P Glad you liked the story!

**Infinite Rhapsody: **Well, of course you would say that. Lol, Twilight rocks. Can't imagine why you don't think so.

**Lorelai Rosado: **your reviews made my day! I'm so happy you enjoyed the story so much! Sorry, the chapters will take a few days each, but I do promise it will be a pretty long story.

-Aelyra


	4. Reborn

By all rights, this chapter shouldn't even be up. Since the last chapter, there's been over 30 hits to this story. And only **ONE **review!!! One!!! Did you not like the last chapter as much? Was there something wrong with it? If so, tell me!!!

So… if you want more chapters, you had better start reviewing. I am seriously gonna hold out until I get 5 reviews at least. Here me? _**5**_.

This chapter is a freebee, but it's really only a teaser to what was _supposed_ to be chapter four. I originally had something super-long planned out for you guys (seriously... like 5000 words), but then I halved it.

On a happier note (I'm not so good staying on one topic), go read the story I'm helping my beta, **Infinite Rhapsody** (coincidentally, my one reviewer), write— _Junk Mail_. It's under her account in the Alex Rider Fandom. It's amazing. :)

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CHAPTER FOUR

Pain. Grinding pain, stinging pain, burning pain. That was the first thing I registered as I clawed my way towards consciousness. That, and the fact that I was extremely tired.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see the familiar, dirty ceiling of my bedroom, expecting all the pain to vanish in a few moments, the aftermath of a nightmare. But it didn't— it got worse. And my eyes beheld not dingy gray foamcast, but clean, white tiling. I could pick out the microscopic scratches and pocks on the tiles, see a couple tiny, tiny specks of dirt. Huh. Not as clean as I had thought at first, then.

I remembered how to move my eyes, and looked to my left. There were two great silver orbs in a pale face staring straight at me.

_Oh, yes. The Special surgery. I remember now._

"Hello, Victoria. Sit up, now. Don't be lazy."

I flinched.

The voice was grinding, rough; knives running across my nerves like nails on a blackboard. I recognized it vaguely as Turner's. "Come on. Sit up, girl." She wanted me to sit up _now_? Right after my surgery?

"_Get up, Victoria._" I heard her through my ears, but the voice seemed to come from inside my head. It pounded at me, made me lose focus. The world slipped away, replaced by blobs of vaguely human-shaped red and less vividly colored shapes.

Infrared. I was seeing in freaking infrared.

"All right! All right!" My voice came out full of razor blades, cutting and slicing, angry and hurt. Startled, and maybe just a little frightened, I blinked hard, and the world returned to normal.

I sat up, feeling the muscles in my back shriek in protest. I turned to my left to face Turner again. "I'm up!"

"Good. I'm glad you can obey orders." Turner smiled as with some private joke.

"What did you do to me just now?" I asked hoarsely.

"Voice command through to the hypothalamus," explained Turner, which was not really an explanation at all.

"What?"

"I sent a command down my comlink into yours. It stimulated your hypothalamus and cerebral cortex, which, ah, helps you to obey the command."

"Basically, it forced me to obey," I said, angrily.

"I wouldn't put it that far. It just made you, how do you say it? It made you lose your grip temporarily." Turner said this completely without shame, just full of false smiles, skirting the problem.

"Oh, lovely. I can see why there were some things you wanted to tell me _after _I went through the surgery," I asserted furiously.

"Victoria. You are being insubordinate," she warned, knives poking into her voice again. "I won't use the comlink very often, just when I have to talk to you from far away. Though our ears are very superior to the mindless Pretties and the stupid Uglies, even we cannot hear across a distance of a thousand miles." Turner stood up and changed the subject rapidly, as I was learning she was fond of doing. "Come on. Do you want to see yourself in the mirror?"

I didn't reply, but got up from the bed with an unnerving amount of grace and speed. That, at least, was a huge improvement on my normal klutziness and slowness.

I stepped up to the long, clear mirror that covered one whole wall. Turner stood beside me, her scarlet lips smug.

I gasped.

I was at least a foot taller than before, and while I had been slim, I was now very skinny. My arms and legs were corded with strong muscles, my hands small but radiating power.

I was garbed in a thick suit of black that reached up my neck and went down to my ankles. My long, straight brown hair that had been so difficult and yet I had loved so much was chopped off to my chin, where it was parted to the side and smooth as glass.

My skin was the same, still pale, not rosy. My eyes were that terrible, frightening silver that reflected fear and horror back at you. My once-small nose was larger now, long and hawklike. My lips were still full, but were now a little darker, stark against my light skin.

I was completely changed.

"Well, now that you're finished admiring yourself, we can get to business," snapped Turner impatiently, turning on her heel and leading me out of the operation room and into the bright hallway. I could hear people shouting several floors up…and a few disembodied, distant screams. I shuddered. "You've got your first mission today."

_A mission an hour after getting my bones replaced, my body stretched out, and my muscles augmented. I can do this. I can do this. _

_Not. _

"You're leading A unit to the site of a known rebel camp. Your orders are to destroy the camp and any weapons there and to kill every last man, woman and child there. Except for the leader. The leader you bring to me." Turner licked her lips gruesomely. "And while I am lenient with first missions—you are a leader, Captain Clarke."

It was a surprise to hear her use my new title. And her rapid mood swings were giving me a headache. _Wait a second_, I thought, the meaning of her words finally hitting me. Captain. She had mentioned that before, before the surgery— that seemed like so long ago suddenly— but I hadn't really thought that she had been serious.

I didn't even know what I was doing.

"I expect that you will be back within five hours," she went on, oblivious to my jumpy mind. "No trace of the camp shall remain. The coordinates will be programmed into your hovercars, and you will be given proper equipment. I assure you, it will be state of the art. Guns and lasers and even rocket launchers—such fun!" Turner gave a grating, harshly uncharacteristic laugh. "I trust you will use them well."

We continued in silence, me digesting Turner's strange attitude and my deplorable mission, Turner grinning to herself every so often, her black boots clacking on the linoleum. We went down several flights of stairs until I was virtually sure we were underground.

Finally, we arrived in a large, ornate room with lush crimson carpet, luxurious golden walls, and a crystal chandelier, where forty or so other Specials were gathered, separated into four groups. A pile of machine guns, heat gas grenades and the dreaded laser guns was situated in the middle of the room, looking hilariously out of place.

"Agents, at attention!" Turner called. She did not raise her voice, but the other Specials heard her anyway and immediately lined up and stood at attention. "A unit, report to me and your new commander, Captain Clarke. B unit, you have patrol in the Uglies district. Pay special attention to the area around Coldwater Dormitory. Rebels have been sighted nearby."

I felt a jolt of fear as Turner mentioned my dorm. Could she be talking about Adrian? Did she know I had met him? Was Adrian a _rebel_, anyway?

Turner continued with her orders. "C unit, forest patrol. Check for any unauthorized travelers. D unit, you have Ashe Wing duty. We have a new shipment of rebels tonight, thanks to B unit."

Scattered applause; it looked like the Specials had already heard about this capture and congratulated their colleagues.

"If you can extract any information, do so. If you have any especially difficult subjects, send them to Genemod Experimentation. Don't forget to eliminate all the prisoners at the end of your questioning. You may use heat gas."

The Specials who I assumed made up D unit cheered. I did not join in. Genemod _Experimentation_? My new boss used prisoners like _lab rats_? My God. I was appalled. I had known Turner was unstable and somewhat sadistic, and Adrian had told me that Specials were in charge of torture and murder of rebels, but…this was beyond belief. Experimentation on live people? That was horrendous.

But wasn't that what doctors did to Uglies when they turned sixteen? Live experimentation?

I was liking this city less and less by the minute.

I was given no time to ponder those misgivings as the Specials of A unit zipped over to Turner and me.

They all had pale skin, silver eyes, full lips, and long, thin noses, but aside from that, they were as dissimilar as a pack of nine Uglies. Five were girls and four were boys. They crowded around me and introduced themselves in those strange voices that were like smooth gossamer masking honed, evil knives.

"I'm Sienna. Agent West to you." A tall, graceful—heck, we were all tall and graceful—girl who looked like she was twenty-one or so (but it really was hard to tell when they were all so alike) with smooth blond hair tied back in a in a ponytail stepped up to greet me. "I'm your second in command, and I've been here longer than any of the others, so you had better listen to me. I specialize in the Ashe Wing—prisoner interrogation. And just because you're a captain, don't you dare think you know more than me. I was the first Special, and I'm the best. You better remember that."

Excellent. A bossy, super-confident, experienced, bitter second-in-command.

_Welcome to the workforce, Victoria._

The others introduced themselves with a lot less insubordination: Katrina Troy, a newly turned brunette who was quiet and also a master systems hacker, as the other agents informed me later.

Alexandra Wright, a calculating redhead who looked up to Sienna no end but, according to Katrina, was the best at busting rebel hideouts.

Anne Ride, a raven-haired, talkative twenty-year-old who had a good hand with the rocket launcher.

Lily Caspian, a fierce teenager with pale blond hair cropped short like mine who Anne told me could airboard like no one's business.

Mike and Eric Everson, two brunet identical twins who didn't speak often, but what they did say, I learned, was smart and analytical.

Randy Cooper, a big, muscular teenager who was the best sharpshooter of the group.

Jason McAllister, a moody black-haired boy two years older than me who was, apparently, the group's expert on heat gas and the Bohrian laser ray.

I liked Jason a lot less after I became aware of that fact.

"Okay," said Turner after everyone had finished introducing themselves. Our silver eyes immediately flew to her face. Turner seemed like she was one of those people who had the gift of holding an audience. Or maybe she had just altered our brain chemistry.

I was a robot, I thought. A horrible, psychopathic-ruled, chemically-altered robot.

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And there's your short chapter! Chapter 5 is all typed and ready, so review and you'll get it!

-Aelyra xxx


	5. Mission

I know I haven't posted in forever, but I had a change of heart and decided to give you guys the next chapter since it was all ready and whatnot. However, I'm not sure if I'm going to continue after this one or not, because life and other projects are getting in the way. But enjoy!

And I realized I forgot disclaimers, so here's the disclaimer for this and every other chapter: Sadly, I am not a published author, so the only things that belong to me are what I've added to Scott Westerfeld's amazing world!

Once again, thanks to my amazing beta,** Infinite Rhapsody**.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Either way, we fell quiet and listened attentively. Turner described our mission as she had told me before—kill everyone except the leader, use terrible weapons, and, basically, act like monsters.

The others, however, seemed unperturbed by our despicable assignment. They were cool and collected as they walked over to the pile of weapons in the middle of the room.

I swallowed, forcing my feet to move after them. Hearing it once more, seeing the rest of my Unit's clear enthusiasm at the coming prospect, seeing the weapons… it all made it seem much more real. I was going to have to go out and kill people.

I felt as if I was in a fog, a terrible fog, where I was stuck in a stupid nightmare where, instead of being chased by the monster, I was the monster chasing myself. _Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare._

"Excellent. Laser gun. My favorite barbecue method." Jason laughed and hefted one of the heavy metal guns like it weighed nothing. "You know I don't like to play with my food."

_Way to throw emphasis on my point_, I thought distractedly.

"Well, I do," said Lily with a feral grin that showed all her pointed teeth. "I'll choose a gene scrambler, thanks. Nothing like watching the show when one of _these _gets ahold of a rebel."

_Oh. My. God. A gene scrambler. Only the most illegal, terrible weapon ever created, besides the Ray. _Gene scramblers, quite predictably, screwed up victims' genes. One bullet with the dreaded chemical on it, and five seconds later, the victim would be morphing in and out of all sorts of horrible, painful, mutated forms. I couldn't believe anyone—even Specials—would use that deplorable weapon.

"Hey, McAllister, pass me a laser," Randy said easily, smiling along with Lily, cracking his knuckles. "I love the look the rebels get when they know they're about to get hit with it."

"And when it's the _Uglies_!" cackled Sienna with a laugh like a hyena's. "When we go out on patrol and test out the new lasers on them, oh, that's just priceless."

The _Government _was doing that to its own _citizens_? This wasn't real. I was having a terrible nightmare and soon I would wake up in my dorm and still be sixteen and still be Ugly. This wasn't real. This wasn't real.  
At least, that was what I told myself.

Jason threw one of the guns high in the air, so high it grazed the chandelier six stories above us. Randy jumped ten, twenty, thirty feet, caught the gun, and fell back to Earth in a flash, landing on his feet without making a sound.

"Nice catch, Cooper!" Katrina high-fived Randy. "Remember the time you jumped through the ceiling?"

I looked up through the clouds surrounding my mind. The ceiling was at least a hundred feet above us. That someone could jump that high just boggled my mind. I guess Turner had made us a _lot _stronger.

"Oh, yeah, Troy, put down my most recent accomplishment," said Randy, all mock hurt.

Anne punched the muscular teenager on the arm. "Shut up. You know you love it."

"What I love, Ride, is hearing the crunch of rebel bones."

I looked away; frankly I was terrified by the frivolous way my colleagues were talking about killing living, breathing people. It was awful. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to will myself to wake from the nightmare that I knew was real.

"Hey, Clarke, come check out this laser. You want it?" Alexandra broke into my reverie. "Captain, you wanna kick some rebel butt or what?"

"Huh?" I shook my head, trying to clear it. I reluctantly took the laser, horrified to hold an evil thing like it, a destructive weapon that must have taken hundreds of lives. My hand trembled slightly as I grasped the gun. I stared at my pale hand, willing it to stop shaking. I did not succeed.

"Oh. Thanks, um, Wright." I wasn't sure how to address the other Specials. They called each other by their last names, but was I, as Captain, supposed to talk to them differently? I'd have to ask Turner. I looked around for her—she had been right behind me—but she was over with C unit, equipping them for "forest patrol". I could hear her sharp instructions from where I stood, but I shut them out and began my rather haphazard attempt to lead my group.

"Okay. So we're going to attack the rebel camp, kill everyone—except the leader, we're bringing him to Turner—and leave no evidence that the establishment ever existed. We'll take hovercars, and for weapons…" I trailed off.

My unit was already selecting weapons, but I felt, as a good captain, I should probably give them instructions. Not that orders from a rookie would carry much weight with anyone. Especially Sienna, who chose just that moment to butt in.

"_I'll _take charge of the weapons. You just stay out of it, okay, newbie?"

I hissed. Sienna's harsh words suddenly filled me with hot, boiling anger. I was surprised— I was pretty sure I had been too horror-struck to be anything else.

"I am your captain, _Agent West._" I spat the name out with as much disdain as I could muster, my voice all sharp edges and dissonance. "I will thank you to check your insubordination."

Hey. If everyone else could stomp about, yell, and talk about insubordination all the time, I could, too.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

"I'll thank you to stop scolding me in public." Sienna stepped up close to me, her silver eyes frozen with icy fire. "_Captain _Clarke." The title was added after a pause, dripping with hatred.

From the other side of the room, Turner called, "A unit! Stop fighting! Move out in three minutes!"

Behind me, the rest of A unit hustled around, grabbing weapons in a laughing frenzy and calling out their picks.

"I've got laser!" announced Jason with glee, dancing around the pile, waving the gun in the air.

"Me too!" Randy linked arms with Jason and danced a very strange version of the can-can with him.

"I'll take some heat gas grenades!" said Katrina, grabbing a handful of the grenades and miming chucking them across the room. "This is gonna be _fun._"

"I'll grab a few machine guns," Mike said tersely, tossing a few over to Eric.

"Don't forget the gene scramblers!" warned Lily, stuffing some into a small bag at her waist and throwing some over to Anne and Alexandra. The two young women held the deadly weapon with rapture on their faces.

"Excellent! I love these things," exclaimed Anne, delighted.

Sienna was still in front of me, seething silently, immune to the murderous happiness our colleagues were feeling. She drew a breath and curled her lip in a twisted sneer. "All right, _Captain. _You win this round. But remember, this isn't over."

She stalked off to grab a gun. She held it in both hands. As I watched, it twisted like clay while Sienna's face was black as night with her fury, her silver eyes narrowed as she watched me.

"Oops!" she said gaily, looking away from me and laughing. "I twisted it. My bad. Pass me another, will you, Eric?"

Mood swings. We all had mood swings like a freaking pregnant woman.

Oh yeah, we also had murderous dispositions. Which were generally part of serial killers' personalities, not pregnant women's. _But, hey, this world has all kinds of people. I'm not gonna be stereotypical._

_There! You see? I was furious a minute ago. Now I'm all humorous. I can't even control my own feelings. Lovely._

"Come on, you guys. Time to move out. Let's go kick some rebel butt!" I attempted to cheerlead, but the last part, a balloon of false happiness, got deflated by the knives in my voice and came out flat and slightly strangled. Anne and Katrina exchanged a look.

"All right. Let's go," said Randy. "C'mon, Captain. We gotta show you where the hovercar garage is." He zipped away, and the others followed, all of them moving at an incredible, inhuman speed.

I ran after them, whipping past doors at sixty miles an hour. We reached a huge hangar where forty sleeping hovercars sat in front of a great metal door.

"How come we never saw this from the city?" I inquired, curious. Hovercars coming from a gigantic garage might attract the attention of a few people.

"Holo-disguise. We superimpose the image of a normal hospital wall over that of this garage," Alexandra informed me, copying Sienna's disdainful, superior tone. "Of course, we can't expect a _rookie _to know that," she quietly remarked to my second-in-command. Sienna just smiled grimly, her eyes hard, her hands tight on her gun.

"Okay, Captain." Eric spoke for the first time, brushing off his hands and coming to stand by me. "Before we leave, there are a few things you need to know. Mind if I show you?"

If Sienna had spoken this way, I wouldn't have minded her superior air half as much. I guess she had a few things to learn about diplomacy.

Not that Specials used that very often.

Killing took a backseat to negotiation, of course.

"Okay," I said, ready to learn the tricks of my new, horrible existence.

"You need to know how to use your vision overlays and internal computer. We'll do visual overlays first. Close your eyes."

I obeyed.

"Do you see anything?"

I concentrated. A wall of dark blue rose up in my mind's eye, littered with white text. It appeared to be some sort of list. I nodded in response to Eric.

_Menu_

_Visual overlays_

_Nets_

_Alarm_

_Comlink_

_Passcodes_

"Okay. Now bend your right index finger once."

I did so. A new list popped up.

_Visual Overlays_

_Infrared_

_X-Ray_

_Map (sync homing device prior to use)_

_Landmark_

_..._

The list continued, but I didn't bother to read it. Eric spoke. "Bend your finger again. Just once. Like last time. Then open your eyes."

I bent my finger obediently and opened my eyes. I gasped. The world had gone black, punctuated by the orange humanoid blots that were the Specials and the red of the hovercar engines. Every color of the rainbow.

"So this is infrared," I remarked, keeping the awe from my voice. The view was amazing and made me completely rethink my world. So humans were just blobs of heat? How did animals see us? Did they see us as blots of color or the way we "really" were? It boggled my mind.

"Yes. It's good for finding runaway rebels."

My happiness soured immediately.

"Okay, so I guess you've learned how to use your VOs. Now can you get out of it?" said the red shape that I assumed was Eric.

I did not answer. I shut my eyes and went through the whole process of getting to the visual overlay menu again. Now, instead of the "Infrared" option, it had "Return to Normal" in the first slot. I bent my finger and opened my eyes. The world was once more the way I knew it.

"All right. I'll show you how to pick a net, and then I think you can figure it out from there. Go to the menu and pick 'Nets' by bending your finger twice, real fast."

_Nets_

_IntelNet Special Agents (private)_

_FedNet Federal Government (public)_

_StateNet State Government (public)_

_CityNet City Government (public)_

_GovNet General Government (private)_

_MedNet Hospital and Medical Records (public)_

_AvgNet "Average" Monitoring and Records (private)_

_NewsNet National and International News (public)_

_WardNet Warden Records (public)_

_SurgeNet "Surged" Monitoring and Records(private)_

"What you're seeing is a list of nets, pretty much all the ones there are in the country. Well, there are a few of the local nets, and those incredibly asinine FunNet and TVNet for the Surged and SchoolNet for the Uglies, but, of course, you won't need to access those. You can get into the private nets with the codes from the Password section of the main menu. You can get onto these nets just by using your finger like I showed you. You'll find pretty much everything you need on here, especially on IntelNet."

"Yes, Eric, that's wonderful, but we really need to get a move on," said Jason impatiently, checking his watch.

"Okay. Okay. C'mon, Captain Clarke."

I opened my eyes and followed my unit to the hovercars. I jumped in one and was followed by Lily and Anne. Mike, Eric, and Randy got in another, leaving Katrina, Alexandra, Sienna, and Jason to get in a third (may I add, Jason did not look very happy about that arrangement).

Lily got in the driver's seat, explaining that it would take too long to teach me how to drive a hovercar and that, although the coordinates were already programmed into the car's computer, it would need manual piloting through the forest, where the rebels were hidden.

I let her take the seat, sitting back in one of the sleek, streamlined gray couches placed inside the roomy hovercar, stamped with a silver lightning bolt, which I assumed was the emblem of the Specials, as we all had a small one stamped on the front right of our black suits. I was reclining in comfort, my eyes closed, but I was not relaxing. Oh no. Far from it.

I was worrying. _What if I have to kill someone? Heck, not what if. It's almost a guarantee I'll have to kill _lots _of people who've never done anything to me, and if they've done anything to the city, I've certainly never heard about it. So my agenda for the rest of my life is kill, maim, and torture. I want to back out, but I don't think that's an option. What have the rebels done that makes Turner want to treat them with no mercy? Will I become like her? Will I enjoy killing? Who _are _the rebels, anyway?_

I was suddenly struck with a sickening thought.

_What if Adrian is one?_

It made sense. Rugged boy hijacks a groundcar to give convoluted answers to impossible questions and insult the government. As you do.

_If he's a rebel, I don't know what I'll do._

The hovercar skimmed across dull metal rooftops like a stone skipping over water. After a few minutes, during which I continued brooding, we entered the forest. Lily disabled autopilot and took the controls, her silver eyes fierce as she evaluated our route. After a minute, she braked suddenly, stopping the car and bringing it silently down to a rest on the mast-covered ground.

"Have we arrived?" I asked, getting up and grabbing my gun.

"Yes," said Lily, face alight with suppressed excitement.

_Can I really do this_? I asked myself, all too aware of the rest of my unit's almost feral eyes, gleaming in the darkness next to me.

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Do I need to say it? Review, Review, REVIEW!!! And _maybe_ you'll get the next chapter!

-Aelyra


	6. Battle

After a very, very long time, here is chapter 6. I was looking through my computer and found it and decided to post it since it was already written, but the story is probably not going to be updated for at least a long while after this. Sorry its so short—hope you enjoy!

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CHAPTER SIX

Swallowing, I tried to act like I knew what I was doing. I asked a question, trying not to show my doubt. "What do we do next?"

"For God's sake be quiet!" whispered Lily, not so much from anger as from caution. She checked that her gene scramblers were still safe inside the pouch at her waist. "We're maybe fifty feet away from their pathetic little camp. They don't even have hovercar sensors, can you believe it? This is going to be easy."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, my stomach queasy. I folded one hand across my abdomen. Ironic that I was somehow the captain. That although they may have altered my looks, some of my instincts, a part of the real me remained that kept me from being exactly what they wanted me to be.

"Come on. Jump out, but be quiet," Anne whispered.

We deployed as the other two hovercars landed. The rest of A unit jumped out, brandishing their weapons in silent glee, horsing around and, in Jason's and Randy's cases, perform the strange version of the can-can again, feet scuffing across the pine needles on the ground but making no sound. They were all so at ease, none of the feelings coursing through me even touching them.

Only Sienna was grim, her mouth tight, her hands clenched on her machine gun.

We crept silently towards the light ahead, weapons at the ready. We could hear shouting, laughter. From the sounds booming towards and the smells wafting to my enhanced ears and nose, I guessed the rebels were a group of maybe fifty people.

We came to a line of trees and bushes that made up a crude wall around the camp. Sienna turned to the others. "Ready?"

"Ready," they whispered back.

"On my word," she said quietly, crouching, ready to pounce. That's when a new emotion emerged inside me. "One, two—" Sienna continued.

The huge cloud of fury and hatred that had been brewing within me suddenly reared its ugly head. "_Excuse _me, Sienna. I believe this is my unit, not yours. _I _will give the commands."

"Yeah?" Sienna rose up slowly, uncoiling like a spring. "_I _was the captain before _you _came. This unit knows _me. _I'm more experienced than you, and come to that, I'm a better agent than you." She sounded semi-incredulous. _Good for you_, I thought. _We can't always have our way_.

A unit was silent, riveted; Alexandra was looking at me with a smirk on her face, but other than that, the group did not seem like they supported Sienna.

"You are being insubordinate," I spat, rising to my full height. My newly-minted silver eyes flashed. Sienna's words unlocked a possessive, angry side of me I hadn't known was there. Of course, it was probably some part of my new Special personality that Turner had programmed into my now half-electronic self. But no matter. I hissed and spoke again, my voice full of knives rising to strike Sienna, grating and keen. "You _will_ obey my orders, _West._"

"I will not," she seethed, pushing the hard, sharp words out through her bared teeth.

"Sienna. I will give you a count of three. On the count of three, the rest of A unit will charge the rebel camp. If you choose to join them, I will forget your disobedience. If you do not do so, I will have some words with Turner about you, and I can assure you, they will not be complimentary." My new mood was still shocking me as much as it seemed to be shocking the rest of them.

Sienna did not speak.

"One."

A unit tensed.

"Two."

Sienna clenched her fists.

"_Three!_"

All ten of us burst forward, guns firing, spoons pulled of the grenades. The rebels ran back, surprised, as five of them fell under the first wave of our attack. A unit fired furiously, lasers vaporizing bodies, bullets punching through flesh.

My anger at Sienna disappeared in a flash.

A unit fired furiously.

Except for me.

Adrenaline was pounding through my veins as the rebels fell under all assault, but I did not use my gun. _Did not? Could not?_ I couldn't figure out which. I simply stood at the edge of the clearing, tensed and crouched, fists clenched in case any of the rebels came near.

Unconsciously, I began to notice their individual faces. As one passed close to me, I recoiled in horror. It was an ancient lady, perhaps even thirty or thirty-five, her face wrinkly and crinkled. Her ears were far too large; her lips to angular. It just didn't seem right for someone to look that way.

She lunged at me, startlingly fast, breaking my revere, and only a quick duck to the side saved my head from being severed off from the rest of my body. Gaping, for a second shocked, I stared back at the lady. She was fleeing, now that she had lost the initiative.

Once more, my body acted on its own accord. I found myself chasing after her, my feet pounding into the soil. My enhanced muscles, legs quickly brought me close and I automatically used the weapon in my hand. She fell back, her body writhing, collapsing onto the ground.

I froze, shocked. It was a taser in my hands. Capable of sending enough voltage through a person to kill them. That's when I realized I had once again become victim to the whims of the new me. _I'm a killing-machine_, I suddenly found myself thinking, almost maniacally.

Then, just as suddenly, I was shocked. Looking down at the now dead lady's face, I felt as if someone had just slapped me around my face.

People that age hadn't used to seem unnatural to me. My parents had been that old once. My grandparents, older. I tried to re-picture their faces, and realized I couldn't.

When had my elders started looking like that?

To my despair, I couldn't remember. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and, despite my new supernatural strength, I found myself grasping for and then clutching a tree to keep me upright.

Then I only felt a fine powder under my hand.

Confused, I turned over to the branch that I had been holding and saw that all I held now was brown dust. Where the branch used to be, there was only a broken end.

I stared in horror. I had done that? I was truly a monster.

A loud cry broke me out of my revere.

I turned to scan the fight, my insides still churning. Lily scattering gene scramblers like they were glitter. Katrina pirouetting gracefully as she fought, taking out a rebel with every kick and punch, an animal of prey in its niche. Mike and Eric, twin figures standing back-to-back, machine guns crackling with a barrage of bullets.

Rebels dying everywhere.

My eyes swept the slaughter, and suddenly I remembered something else. What if he was here?

I looked again, fighting my revulsion, with renewed interest, however reluctant, searching for the one person I both hoped and feared was there.

I looked everywhere, terrified I would see a head of ruffled brown hair, hoping I could see those penetrating emerald eyes again.

I stood still for a minute, my eyes darting over the battle—or, really, rebel-killing fest. They had no chance against the Specials.

I waited, terrified, praying, scared, hoping. _Adrian probably won't be here, _I told myself, cruelly. _He won't be here, because he probably isn't a rebel, and then all of A unit will laugh at you for being too scared to join in the fight._

Suddenly, I was disgusted with myself. What were the chances that one boy, one person I was looking for, was here? And why was I hanging myself so much over it?

Besides, if he was here— I forced myself to realize— he would be disgusted with me as well. Undoubtedly. I was the very thing he had warned me not to become. I was killing others that were just like him. Had killed. Possibly friends. Family.

For I was sure now that he was a rebel. Those being slaughtered now, they all looked just like him. The same alien peace, that wild calm. In hindsight, it was obvious.

For all the rest of the battle—no, massacre— I remained in my strange stupor, haunted by the lady I had killed. By the others my unit was still killing.

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'Till next time!

-Aelyra


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